58 - Waffle motel.
[email protected]
I drove for a couple of days up the valley, but
not in any kind of hurry or anything. Have to go
easy on this old beater volkswagen, and I got no
time frame. Eventually I just turn into some old
motel named "Wednesday's Inn" a little past
Burloo, call it good enough and I've been hanging
out there ever since. It's got electricity on all
the time, and there's a gas station store across
the street where I can get as much barbecue chips
and maxwell house instant coffee as I want. And no
ogres. Perfect.
There's like hardly anybody else but me staying
here. Whenever I go to the check-in place to use
the vending machines or whatever, the woman there
is always wanting to chat. Sort of. She's got this
table set up in the corner of the room by the
window, and I kid you not, every time I go in, she
is there making or eating a waffle. She's got a
little cooker, a bowl of batter, and it's like she
must be sitting there making and eating waffles
all day and all night. And she always offers to
share, which is great, because sure I like
waffles. But it's like, whatever we talk about she
somehow steers towards waffles. Really fast. It's
amazing.
"I drove here from near Vernham," I tell her.
"Hm. Yeah, I went there one time. Had some good
waffles."
"Gonna be cold again tomorrow?"
"Mmm, yeah, they say. But I'll make some hot
waffles in here anyways, so drop on in."
"I got to get some parts for this old car, you
know any good place around here for that?"
"Oh yeah, Pinder's, by the co-op. You know, his
wife makes really, really good waffles."
You get the idea. And I try to talk about waffles
with her, I do, but after a while I guess I just
get a bit tired of it.
